


From the Darkness Reborn

by edelweissroses



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Drabble, Extended Metaphors, Gen, Genderfluid, Genderfluid Dracula, Implied Relationship, LGBTQ Themes, Seriously So Many Metaphors It'll Make An English Teacher Cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 19:53:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17628644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edelweissroses/pseuds/edelweissroses
Summary: The Count brought his knees against his chest, resting his arms casually across. The mischievous glint in his smile, denoting girlish mirth, soothed Mina’s shameful nerves. The Count had always treated her kindly – like a cherished friend, a trusted confidante, an equal. Not like the fascinating pet Dr. Seward regarded her as. Not like the last remnant of her dearest Lucy like Lord Godalming. Not like an infant needing of protection like Johnathon or a heaven-sent being like Dr. Van Hellsing.No, Dracula neither coddled nor controlled. Never had and never would.Quite unlike the other men in her life who claimed to care about her.“Have you given some thought to your decision?” the Count finally spoke.Mina shivered, the softness in his voice always taking her by surprise.“I have.”





	From the Darkness Reborn

Mina Harker froze.

She clutched ivory blankets against her breast as all-too-familiar mist spilled in from the open windows. It coalesced into the center, gleaming white like Mother’s Milk yet saturated with an unnatural darkness as if spoilt – or, perhaps, transformed into something new.

Mina’s heart thumped erratically behind her ribcage as the mist pulled itself up into the form of a man. Or, at least, what seemed like one at first glance.

Count Dracula’s hair cascaded over his shoulders in liquid waves of midnight. His eyes burned with both an ancient weariness and childlike eagerness. A veritable dichotomy – both old and young within one soul. For even though he had witnessed the years pass him by, transforming from decades into centuries, he had never once lost that wonder and awe for the world belonging to only the youngest of men.

He was power and knowledge, deliverance and salvation, and he knew it. The manner in which he held his broad shoulders back and head arched high with aristocratic distinguishment, accentuating the harsh lines of his jaw and the thick mustache upon his lip indicated as such.

Yet when the Count moved towards her, there was all the fluidity and angelic grace of a woman. Power faded into kindness when his eyes met hers. His ghostly white hand extended outwards towards the empty spot on the bed beside her; and, it was only when she gave a permissive nod that he seated himself.

The Count brought his knees against his chest, resting his arms casually across. The mischievous glint in his smile, denoting girlish mirth, soothed Mina’s shameful nerves. The Count had always treated her kindly – like a cherished friend, a trusted confidante, an _equal._ Not like the fascinating pet Dr. Seward regarded her as. Not like the last remnant of her dearest Lucy like Lord Godalming. Not like an infant needing of protection like Johnathon or a heaven-sent being like Dr. Van Hellsing.

No, Dracula neither coddled nor controlled. Never had and never would.

Quite unlike the other men in her life who claimed to care about her.

“Have you given some thought to your decision?” the Count finally spoke.

Mina shivered, the softness in his voice always taking her by surprise.

“I have.”

“And?”

“I desire freedom,” she confessed within a whisper, casting her gaze down. She balled her hands inside the blankets, trembling with an emotion not quite anxiety or childish excitement but something else entirely that she couldn’t describe.

“I wish to rid myself of society’s suffocating and rigid expectations. I shan’t be satisfied as a little home wife shackled to the hearth with children suckling at my breast,” she frowned and covered her face.

“I thought… my Johnathon understood that. I’ll have you know that he once encouraged all my pursuits – nary an unkind word spoken about my learning shorthand or typing,” Mina smiled wryly, peering at her companion between her fingers, “I wanted to go with him, you know. When you sent for him.”

The Count seemed surprised by this.

“Then why did you not come?” he asked.

“Believe me, I tried,” Mina responded, huffing, “I wanted nothing more than to transcribe everything we would inevitably see together on my traveling typewriter. Oh, how I dreamed of describing the wild forests and misty mountains. The feral beauty that could be found all around me. Johnathon protested, working himself into a fury over my wants to visit a— _a barbaric country_.”

“Barbaric country?” the Count snarled, “Why I never!”

“I know!” Mina threw up her hands, “All that I yearn for is to live and explore and do whatever I please without worry or condemnation. But…”

“Ah, there’s always a but.”

“I don’t think I can live the way you do.”

“I am neither woman nor man, my dear Mina,” the Count hummed, placing a hand against his chest, “I am beyond all that. I choose my form as I please. Am I not the mist that crawls into your bedroom at night? Am I not the dogs running through the graveyard or the wolves howling at the full moon? Am I not the Tempest crashing ships against the docks? Am I not the whore laughing gaily in the alley? Am I not the man in Piccadilly Circus feeling up her leg? I am all, I am none. I just… am.”

His gaze turned sympathetic.

“That doesn’t mean you have to be. You live how you desire. No constraints, no rules. All I offer are the tools to do so."

“And you expect nothing in return?”

“Nothing,” he repeated.

“There’s no such thing.”

“Mina,” the Count clasped her hands between his and squeezed, “I see myself in you. Suffering and locked away in a prison beyond your making that is devouring your mind and spirit. Your captors have provided you with culture and education but none of the power to use it. They’d call you savage, dare you assert yourself. Worse than all that prattle about the New Woman. They would keep you here in this sanatorium but, I’m afraid, not as their distinguished guest.”

Mina shivered.

“But, my dearest Mina,” the Count smiled and kissed her knuckles, “I can grant you power and nothing in this world can take that away from you. Make no mistake; there are downfalls, but dying isn’t so bad when you can truly live afterwards.”

“I want that,” Mina wrapped her arms around him—her— No, around _Dracula._ “I want you.”

“Then feed from me, my Mina.”

Dracula lowered her head to his breast, slicing into his flesh. Blood dripped unto the ivory sheets below, staining it red.

“And be reborn.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wowie, I think this is the shortest work I have on here. I originally wrote this for a final for a Vampires & Werewolves class that I'd taken over winter break. I was really proud of the end result and figured there'd be no harm in sharing it here ! The original document had about 22 footnotes for every reference to the original material and Stoker-esque metaphor and whatnot.
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think ! Please leave your comments and constructive criticisms below !


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